OPINION:
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it: it was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort and dairy farming and a nuclear-free policy.

The hobbit who lived here was the Peeyem, or chief hobbit. One day his secretary came to visit him. They ate a light lunch of whitebait and oysters and a dairy cow then sat back with their pipes but didn't light them because of the in-hole smoking ban.

"Peeyem," said the secretary, "we think you should go on a journey."

The Peeyem dropped his pipe in horror. "A journey?"

"Well, more of a long slimy crawl," said the secretary. "We want you to go to the Holy Wood."

"The Holy Wood!" exclaimed the Peeyem, dropping his pipe again in horror, "the home of the dreaded Moguls?"

"Yes," said the secretary.

"The moguls who manufacture trash and fantasy to exploit the most primitive urges?"

"Yes," said the secretary. "Because exploiting primitive urges has given the Moguls lots of golden treasure. Your job is to get them to come and spend that treasure here in Hobbiton, not only so that we get rich but also to encourage boneheads to visit Hobbiton in the fatuous hope of getting a bit of glamour by proxy.

"It'll be very good for the Hobbiton economy and, if you succeed, it will make you popular."

"I think it's demeaning and mercenary and unworthy and wrong," said the Peeyem.

"Yes," said the secretary, "and here's your travelling bag. It's full of bribes."

With a sigh as deep as a hobbit's hole, the Peeyem took the bag and set off on his long slimy crawl. Many hours did he travel through the Lounge of Koru and after many adventures he arrived at the fabled region of the Holy Wood, where he marvelled at the glittering towers that stretched to the sky from their foundations of solid hokum.

People were queuing outside one of the towers. "Excuse me," said the Peeyem, "does anyone know where I can find some Moguls? I've come on a long slimy crawl to bribe them, you see."

"Wait your turn, shortie," growled the very black man at the back of the queue.

"But I'm the important Peeyem of Hobbiton," said the Peeyem, placing his dignity on the pavement and standing on it so as to look taller.

"And I'm the president for life of a small African country," said the very black man, "and that bloke there with the empty wallet and the threadbare suit is the chairman of the European Union, and that's the Moldovan cultural attache and shall I go on?"

"I'll wait my turn."

When the Peeyem's turn came, he found the Mogul enthroned on a chair of polished crassness.

"Sit," said the Mogul.

The Peeyem sat.

"Stand," said the Mogul.

The Peeyem stood.

"Beg," said the Mogul.

"I'll have you know," said the Peeyem, "that I'm the Peeyem of an independent sovereign nation and that, if you continue to treat me in this manner, I shall report you to your president who is a personal friend."

The Mogul reached wearily into his pocket, brought his hand to the desk, and slowly unfurled his fingers. In his palm stood a little White House. "Do I need to say any more?" the Mogul asked.